The Black Stallion Agreement
by Hannah221
Summary: 10 yearlings. 2 sires. 2 owners. 1 business deal. 1 winner. Hopeful Farm and Eagle Star Farm, owner of Eclipse have come up with the perfect way to breed a champion. With eachothers help. But when it comes down to the wire is it more hindrance than help?
1. 1: The Selection

THE SELECTION

Ten yearlings. Ten broodmares. Two sires. Two owners. One business deal.

It was a business deal which sought to keep everyone happy and give everyone a fair chance. Hopeful Farm, owners of the Black, and Eagle Star Farm, owners of Eclipse had come to an agreement whereby they each sent five of their best broodmares to the opposing farm's prize stallion and once the foals had become yearlings, they would take it in turns to choose which juvenile they'd like to keep. This year it was Hopeful Farm's turn to choose first.

Alec and Henry stood, looking critically at all ten yearlings, before making their final decisions.

"Roulette colt," Alec announced finally.

Eagle Star Farm's connections grimaced in disappointment. Their matriarch broodmare, Roulette was by champion sire Night Wind and her offspring, sired by the Black, was nothing short of perfection. He was the mirror image of his sire, even down to the low hocks and barrel chest, the only drawback was his temperament. As the stable lad led the colt away in the direction of Hopeful Farm's horse lorry, they could see him dancing sideways and playfully trying to nip his handler.

"Magic Mix colt," said Rob Walker, Eagle Star Farm's manager.

Another black colt, this time with flashy white stockings and a white face was led away. Alec and Henry tried to hide their disappointment. Magic Mix had been a champion herself when representing Hopeful Farm on the racetrack, showing guts and determination - something which she _hadn't_ inherited from her dam, Black Minx. The Magic Mix colt, sired by Eclipse, was on a par with Roulette's colt.

"Prairie Wind filly," was Hopeful Farm's next choice.

The grey filly, her colour inherited from her grandsire Cyclone and not from her sire, the Black, stepped lightly forward. Colts might be more sought after, but a filly as good looking and as well-bred as this could not be passed by.

"Sharifa filly."

Alec and Henry looked up sharply in surprise. They certainly weren't expecting that. Eagle Star Farm had chosen one of their _own_ mares, and a filly at that. The horse in question was led away, her chestnut tail swishing in the breeze.

* * *

And so it went on.

"Starstruck colt."

"Twist Of Fate colt."

"Xquisite filly."

"Dakota Gold colt."

"Carina colt."

"Keystone filly."

* * *

With the hardest part over, Alec allowed himself to smile for the first time that day. They were now owners of five very promising yearlings. And only next year they would start their racing careers. It seemed so soon! He grinned at Rob Walker, who returned it with equal friendliness.

"Satisfied?" he asked the older man.

"I don't think any of us can complain. I think we got the best deal with Magic Mix's colt."

"I guess we're all happy then. Roulette's colt will give you a run for your money, I'd say."

"Well, then Alec," Rob said, patting him on the shoulder. "We'll see you on the racetrack next year…"


	2. 2: The Roulette Colt

THE ROULETTE COLT

"Watch out, Alec! He's going up again!" Henry yelled.

Alec felt the colt dropping his haunches and lifting his head. Higher and higher he rose until Alec, worried that he would overbalance, flung all his weight forward over the black colt's broad shoulder. The moment the horse touched down, he gave a squeal of outrage and humping his back, cow-bucked on the spot. Alec, with years of experience under his belt of dealing with young disobedient yearlings, moved with him, his hips gyrating like a rodeo rider.

Henry stood by the trackside, resting his heavy arms on the railing, taking the strain off his stooped shoulders. He watched with concern the Roulette colt rebelling against his rider. They'd had some pretty crazy yearlings over the years but luckily, none of them had compared with Satan…_until now_.

What was stranger though, was that the Roulette colt was an angel in the stable. Sure, he'd play-nip and he'd turn his quarters on you if he was in a bad mood, but he wasn't vicious like Satan had been. But show this colt a bridle and just like Satan had, his eyes would flash red, like a gas fire suddenly being lit. Trying to be optimistic, they'd hoped the fire would quieten and they would be able to channel all that energy and spirit in the right direction. But that was months ago and still they were at a loss as to how the colt would perform on the track. It would be New Year in a fortnight's time and the Roulette colt would become a two-year-old. At this rate he'd not be seeing a racetrack professionally until way into the season.

This desperation for progress was now where Henry and Alec found themselves: on the track for the first time but still in as little control as they'd been before.

Suddenly the drum of horses' hooves approaching attracted Henry's attention and, squinting short-sightedly down the stretch, he saw two of the three-year-olds having a fast work.

"Blast!" he muttered under his breath. He thought he'd timed their exercise so they'd miss any of the faster works. "On your guard, Alec!" he called out.

He needn't have though. The colt had also heard the approaching horses and was standing stock still, his small dished head held high and his tail raised like a yacht's pitch pole. Snorting once, he tossed his head and backed up a couple of steps. Alec redistributed his weight in his stirrups and bridged his reins, barely able to contain his excitement.

_This was when they would see how good the Roulette colt was!_

The two three-year-olds thundered past and the colt gave a small rear and sprang after them. He picked up speed like a boat's sail catching a sudden hurricane gust and Alec whooped in excitement, the sound of his voice whipped away by the wind. He hadn't felt a horse hit top speed as quick as this since the Black's racing days - not even Satan, believed to be a better racehorse than his sire, had this sort of acceleration! It was like riding in a Bugatti Veyron after suffering the effects of an rattle-boned Ford.

Crouching low over the colt's juddering shoulders, he focused on the two horses ahead of them. Their head start leant them twelve lengths but the gap was closing. Alec considered easing the colt back - after all, this _was_ only his debut workout and he _was_ still a yearling. Working discreetly on the reins, moving the bit gently in the colt's mouth, he tried to rate his mount but suddenly he felt the colt's jaws clamp down on the bit. Like a whirlwind, he bore down on the two three-year-olds, whose riders were scrubbing flat to the boards. The black colt snorted in the face of the kickback, easing himself to the outside without slowing, his balance impeccable and began to draw up beside them. Alec saw the surprise register on the work riders' faces as he surged past them and allowed a smug smile to touch his lips. Saluting his co-workers, he turned his attention back to the colt as they overtook the others.

_Wow, this is some colt!_

Alec's heart was thumping in his chest with anticipation.

_If we can get this guy straightened up, then we're going to burn up some tracks! Eagle Star Farm and their Magic Mix colt are going to have to be pretty damn special to stand next to this thunderbolt…_


	3. 3: The Magic Mix Colt

THE MAGIC MIX COLT

Rob Walker shook his head in frustration. His eyes followed the approaching flashy brown colt being jogged down the outside rail back to the chute leading to the barn. What was supposed to be a sharp four furlongs had turned into a funeral procession, both in pace and in heart. 46 4/5 seconds wasn't a bad time, especially for such a young horse. But this wasn't just _any_ horse!

This colt, pumping the blood of superstar Eclipse mixed with that of the legendary Black through Kentucky Derby heroine Black Minx through his veins, would fetch no less than twenty mill in the sale ring even if he only had three legs. But this is what Rob found most frustrating - the fact that the colt had four legs, _four very good legs_, it was just trying to make them move faster which had him stumped. There was definitely speed in there, finding the right key to release it was the problem.

Despite his better judgement, he heard himself saying to the Magic Mix colt's rider, Dan Seymour,

"Couldn't you have asked for a bit more?"

Dan looked just as frustrated.

"If I asked for any more, he would've given me less."

Rob shook his head and turned away without further comment. This colt, despite looking just like his sire, had Black Minx's temperament stamped all over him.

"He's bored, boss."

Rob turned at the sound of Dan's voice and raised an eyebrow.

"He was just stretching his muscles out there," Dan carried on. "He doesn't see the point in doing any more. Why should he? As far as he's concerned we're just out for an exercise. We haven't worked him with any of the other horses yet. Maybe it's time we should. Give him a taster of what this whole game is about."

"Maybe you're right," Rob said after a moment's thought. "We'll work him in company just after Christmas. He might give us a surprise."

* * *

Two weeks later, Rob's thumb snapped down on the stop watch as the horse in front of him flashed passed the running rail. A blizzard of snowy kickback in its wake began to settle before being disturbed again by two other horses ten lengths back.

_44 1/5 seconds for a fast four furlongs_.

The glass of the clock misted over as Rob's hot quickening breath blurred out the hands. Rubbing a gloved palm over the face he stared at the time again, a warm sensation spreading from his stomach and scorching through his body until even his ears burned beneath his hat. He'd cracked it!

Looking up, he watched Dan Seymour slowing the colt up and as calmly as he could muster, he took out his cell phone and punched in the number for Eagle Star Farm's primary owner, John McIntyre.

"Hello, John?" he tried to keep the tremor of excitement out of his voice. "Rob Walker here. Just had the Magic Mix colt do his last piece of fast work for the year…you ready for this? 44 1/5 seconds on a deep track…I know! This is the one we've been waiting for…it's too early to start mapping out his campaign, we've got to be patient…remember Eclipse was a champion but he was better at three than he was at two. We've seen from his last crops that two year olds aren't his strong point but by God, this colt can move!…when he wants to, I know. It looks like Black Minx has left her stamp on him. But if he can run like he's just shown me, then Hopeful Farm is going to have their work cut out for them with that mad Roulette colt if they wanna get past him."


	4. 4: The Prairie Wind Filly

THE PRAIRIE WIND FILLY

"Merry Christmas, Alec" Henry muttered, his voice dripping with irony. He looked at Alec grimly before turning back to inspect the filly's foreleg. He could still feel the heat that had radiated from her pastern burning on his palm.

Alec twisted the lead rope in his hands then reached up to pat the filly's steel grey neck consolingly. Looking sorry for herself she turned her head and butted him in the chest with her pink muzzle.

"What do you reckon?" he asked at last.

"Box rest for two weeks at least. We should have thought of this before when we chose her, Alec. Fools, that's what we are! Stupid fools! Rob Walker and his pals were probably patting each other on the back after we left. With weak pasterns we should have realised we'd have trouble."

"Maybe it's just growing pains?" Alec suggested.

Henry shook his head and frowned at the ground.

"This is the third time we've tried to work her and the third time she's come back hobbling. I don't know, Alec. You would think that an old fool like me would have taken this into account."

"It's a pity when she's got so much going for her," Alec said sadly. "What do we do now?"

"Well, it's up to you, Alec. She's Hopeful Farm's, after all. We could get her sound again and send her to the sales next February, let her be someone else's problem -"

"But Henry!"

"_Or_ we could keep her as a broodmare. We can't put her to a stallion until she's a three year old but with her sort of pedigree she'd be a worthy addition to Hopeful Farm's broodmare band."

"We could keep trying, couldn't we? I mean, she's still young, she's bound to strengthen up. That piece of work she did yesterday isn't something we can ignore, Henry."

The old man shook his head again and sighed, his heavy shoulders rising before settling even lower than before.

"She'd be the best filly in training if we could _keep_ her in training."

"So isn't it worth persevering?"

Henry grunted in response and Alec wasn't sure if it was in agreement or not. He knew better than to press it.

"Put her away, Alec. And get some clay on those priceless legs of hers."

* * *

The old trainer walked away, not bothering to watch Alec and the slight grey filly stumble across the concourse back to her stable. He let himself into the racing office and went over to the video cabinet. He selected a DVD case and inserted its contents into the player before settling himself into his chair. They had filmed the Prairie Wind filly's first fast workout, thinking - _hoping_ - that they were capturing the beginning of something great. The screen snow-stormed before projecting an overcast image of wintery conditions. The focus blurred and shook before the cameraman righted it and zoomed in on a horse far down the track, almost blending into the murky landscape.

The filly was breezing three furlongs and by the time the camera's focus was right up close she was hitting top gear. Such a small, slight creature she seemed not to touch the ground at all. Instead, almost gliding over the snow-carpeted track like a figure skater, flicking the snow up with her dainty hooves like a model ridding her high heels of a tuft of dirt. He could hear his own voice, removed and distant on the recording, guffawing with excitement. Laughing wasn't something he did very often these days and like an old fool, he had let himself believe that he had a filly at last to rival Black Minx. As the tape ended he lifted the remote to replay the workout.

_The filly sure can move when she was sound_.

She had run that last furlong in 9 seconds flat.

_Maybe Alec is right. Maybe she is worth persevering with. There was still a whole year before her three-year-old season began. She might be stronger then. How could she not be strong when she was the progeny of the Black? The granddaughter of Cyclone?_

Again he replayed the recording, hoping with every viewing he could convince himself she was worth the effort. He thought of the smug smiles of Eagle Star Farm after they'd secured the Sharifa filly, like the cat who'd got the cream. If nothing else then surely wiping that smile off their faces was enough incentive to keep her in training?


	5. 5: The Sharifa Filly

THE SHARIFA FILLY

If they had got the cream, then the Eagle Star Farm cats had swallowed it sour. The Sharifa filly, sired by the Black with Eclipse as her maternal grandsire was one of the best bred horses on the farm…

_But_ that was about as far as her merits went, Rob Walker thought bitterly.

They were already five weeks into the new year and Sharifa's filly, now a two-year-old, had grown barely an inch in the six months she'd been in their sole ownership.

Rob pulled an anguished face as he watched the horses flash by the gate, their work-riders crouching low over their saddles, holding their mounts to a breeze.

"One, two, three, four," Rob slowly counted the seconds beneath his breath. He stopped as the tiny chestnut filly hurtled past in pursuit of her stablemates. He shook his head.

"Not what you were hoping for, Rob?" A voice behind him startled him and he spun round.

"John! Man, I didn't hear you coming," he addressed Eagle Star Farm's owner while placing a large calming hand over his chest.

John McIntyre's face, lined with age but preserved by a lifetime indoors in board meetings attempted a smile.

"You haven't said much about Sharifa's filly lately," he prompted.

"She's too small, boss," Rob replied with a shrug. "Her heart is in the right place but she can't keep up. Those three she was meant to be working with this morning are also two-year-olds and to be honest, they're nothing to write home about, but even _they_ are faster than her."

They turned as the sound of the fillies returning after their work drifted across the early spring air towards them. Rob shifted the gate open for them and watched them jog through, steam rising off their rumps. His eyes followed Sharifa's filly. She was well put together, light on her feet and despite her golden blonde colouring, had the beautiful dished face of her sire, the Black. But that was where their similarities ended. The Black was a towering seventeen hands high, and even allowing for the weaker sex being smaller, Sharifa's filly was a _pony_. She wouldn't have looked out of place in a lead rein class.

"Sharifa won three Breeders' Cups during her career," John's grave voice interrupted his thoughts. "The Black is the greatest horse ever to set foot on a racetrack. This filly _has_ to have inherited some of that speed."

"Well, if she has then we're going to have to wait until she's grown some before we can find out," Rob muttered. "She won't be running in the Breeders' Cup Juvenile, never mind winning it like Sharifa did."

"I guess Hopeful Farm are going to have a head start on juvenile fillies this year then with that Prairie Wind filly," John frowned.

"Maybe, but we've still got over a year before the Kentucky Oaks. Let's hope this little Sharifa can gain a few inches in the meantime. _Then_ we'll give them something to think about."


End file.
